There’s a house on a hill that stands two stories and looks like something imported from Italy. This place is my home. It is not horribly large, because God Knows, I hate cleaning. It does have a magnificent view from the backyard, pointing west towards the Rockies. Surrounded by red tile and adobe walls, if you leave the West doors open, you can see out the distance to Devil’s Head.
When I sit out there, drinking my tea in my wide brimmed hat that now serves as a resting place for traveling bugs, I can’t help feeling the calm and peace that everyone in the world struggles for. It even seems to justify the years of nerve racking, panic and paranoia days when I barely slept and trembled every morning in fear of the dawn.
No, I always said I just wanted the house. My husband, and the love of my life, managed to stay with me through it all, providing that there are no pangs in my heart. I will have to compose a final piece of writing, a final letter of gratitude to the King of Heaven, because it is by God’s doing that I came through this all without a heart attack, a hemorrhage, or a stroke. He has even denied me the death by cancer that many of my family have suffered. I owe Him it all, and though He knows this, though He knows all, it’s always nice to have someone tell You anyway.
At least in my mind.
There’s a house on a hill that’s my home; a place of rest, a place of accomplishment where the walls tell stories of triumph and defeat. Where the defeats no longer hurt and the triumphs merely stand like sentinels, protecting me from the depression that life would offer me.
At the close of everyones life, they begin looking back, over their shoulders, into the past. They start wondering that question:
“Did I do the right thing?”
Of Course, then they realize, they can’t do anything about it anyway. But that doesn’t stop the question from being there.
Food still turns to ash in my mouth when I think of how blessed I am, and how one sin, one error, might wash it all away. I try to keep my self safe, I walk softly; don’t step on anyone’s dreams, don’t trip over their exagerrations.
I suppose I’ll always be a trembling, paranoid, and panicky individual; lucky for me, I found the one guy who doesn’t seem to have any trouble with that. I’ll always be ready to fall to pieces, and he’ll always be there with that magical glue called laughter, to keep me stuck together and down to earth.